


Sherlock's Mystery

by Ebb_tide



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Desperation, Friendship but can be relationship as well, M/M, Omorashi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3530909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebb_tide/pseuds/Ebb_tide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm having  a really bad time with writer's block so I decided to try writing another fandom to see if it helps. It's written in the same way as my other stories with lots of desperation, sometimes wetting, and a bit of humor. If you hate it, I'm sorry, if you love it thanks :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It all starts with a little pee

John blinked his eyes open as the world focused slowly. He rubbed at his eyes and the blurry world brightened, but didn’t sharpen into anything resembling focus. He yawned and reached over to the nightstand and put his glasses on. The corrective lenses instantly revealed the surroundings that had formerly looked like something from a muddled watercolor painting.

John stayed lying on his back trying to savor a few more moments of relaxation despite his body’s natural clock jarring him awake. His eyes bounced from the stark white ceiling of his dorm room to the sad Ikea lamp and the even sadder out-of-date laptop sitting on the night stand. His side of the dorm room was what you’d typically expect from an average college student. Apart from John’s natural gift for science, he was a typical college freshman.

John let his eyes settle on the bed next to him. His roommate Sherlock was sitting up in bed reading a book. The book had a worn, tattered soft cover and it looked like it had been dragged through the London streets a few thousand times. The cover was too destroyed to make out the title and John wondered if the pages were intact enough to make out all the words.

John scooted himself to a seated position and felt the effects of last night’s studying. He had reviewed his notes all night and fallen asleep during the wee hours of the morning. He winced at the thought of ‘wee’ and clamped his legs together as he felt the all too familiar feeling of an ignored bladder.

He took a slow sigh as he waited for the urge to pass. As a medical student, John was knowledgeable about his body, and as a top student he was even more aware of the consequences of ignoring his body’s needs. Right now his need was a toilet… and quickly.

He drew his knees to his chest as the urge to go increased in severity. His hand made its way to his groin and squeezed, trying to get a handle on the situation. He blushed at his actions even though Sherlock was too engrossed in his torn manuscript to even notice. Not only that; but the covers also hid anything embarrassing that John was doing.

The wave came to a crescendo and John shut his eyes as tightly as they would go. He held his breath as he clamped down hard on the only exit that his bladder had an option to use. His body shook with desperation, but he held on, knowing that this kind of desperation comes in waves. He would have a brief window of time during the lull in pressure to race to relief.

The urge stared to subside and John took a tentative breath. He felt a slight spasm after the exhale, but nothing he couldn’t manage.

He stepped his bare foot on the hard wood floor and it creaked under the weight. John put the other foot on the floor and it gave another resounding creak.

Sherlock didn’t look up as he offered his greeting. “John.”

John put both hands between his legs and hunched over. “Good morning Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked as his eyes continued to scan the pages of his book. “Is it?”

John crossed his legs around his hands as his bladder adjusted to the standing position. A blush was spread prominently across his cheeks, but he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Sherlock had told him many times that he doesn’t like to rely on his sense of sight, so there wasn’t even a chance of Sherlock glancing his way. Sherlock’s logic was that eyesight is the sense that is tied the closest to emotion. Seeing is truly believing; especially if trickery like magic is involved. He chose to rely on his other senses as much as possible.

John bit his lip as he held in a moan that Sherlock would have been sure to hear.

John took a cautious step forward and felt the edge of a trip wire graze his foot. He moved his foot back and sighed realizing that Sherlock had booby trapped their room again. Sherlock picks one day a week to rig the whole room with hidden obstacles to test John’s reflexes. Sherlock had insisted that it was a game to strengthen the mind, but John grumbled that it was more to make a fool out of him.

John mumbled to himself.

_Of all days, the obstacle course had to be set up today. When did he even find the time? I was awake until the early hours of the morning._

He stepped over the wire, but lifting his legs sent an urgent signal to his bladder. When both feet were on the other side of the cord, he crossed his legs and bounced in place. He knew that he didn’t have the mental fortitude to do this today as his bladder pounded inside of him.

John cleared his throat. “Sherlock, I um, I need to get to the toilet. I have to go pretty urgently. Can you disarm the traps?”

Sherlock turned a page of his book and frowned. “They’re not traps, they’re obstacles in a well-designed labyrinth. Also, they cannot be disarmed by one centralized method. That domino way of setting up a series of obstacles is elementary.”

John felt pretty elementary at the moment as he was bouncing on crossed legs while gripping his crotch with all of his might. He bounced purposefully. “Sherlock, I really have to go. I have to go really, really badly.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as John’s voice raised an octave, but he didn’t lift his eyes from the page. Sherlock knew that John was training to be a doctor and wouldn’t leave his bladder in a dangerous state. If John was about to pee himself, he figured that he would be the first the know it. He also knew that a grown man like John wasn’t in danger of having an accident. A single glance at John’s desperate state would have shown Sherlock how wrong he was, but Sherlock kept his eyes glued to the page.

John bit his lip, knowing that the lack of a clear path to the toilet would soon be his undoing.

The premed student mentally conjured up the name and purpose of each muscle in his lower anatomy as he contracted them in an ill-fated plan to hold in an overwhelming amount of urine.

He took a small step forward and paused. He took another cautious step toward the distant toilet, but this one was met with a sharp pain against his bare foot. The trap he activated was a rubber band that was pulled taut and released with minimum effect, but John whimpered as the sharp snap of the rubber coil caused him to flinch. The flinch in turn caused him to lose control temporarily and a small trickle of urine escaped and spread on the front of his pajama pants.

John grunted a coarse profanity. Sherlock winced at the outburst of harsh language from his friend as John winced at the unintentional outburst from his bladder.

Sherlock wasn’t a fan of profanity. He labeled it as ‘words of a man that has not tried hard enough to explore his vocabulary further.’ It wasn’t the swearing that caught his attention however, John swore all the time; it was the strain in the voice that delivered it.

Sherlock looked up from his book and saw his roommate standing doubled over, with his hands gripping his crotch. John’s hands were fairly large and covered a good amount of surface area around the front of his pants, but Sherlock could still see the wet edges of John’s accident.

Sherlock dropped the book on the bed and jumped to his feet. “John, you need to get to the toilet.”

John would have laughed if he wasn’t so embarrassed and overwhelmed with concentration. “No sh** Sherlock. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?”

Sherlock bit his lip as he avoided the pitfalls between him and his suffering friend. Sherlock had planned to graduate university and become a world renowned detective and criminal profiler at Scotland Yard, but this time he might have been too slow to solve the case of ‘John needs a toilet’.

Sherlock reached John and guided him to the bathroom, but a few feet from the door, John tripped over a string threaded across the floor. He stumbled forward and regained his balance, but wasn’t able to regain his hold over his bladder. The fight with his anatomy was a well fought one, but it came to a sudden conclusion.

A stream of urine shot out of John and fell noisily onto the wooden floor. John stopped the mortifying outburst for a moment, but his muscles were no match for the pressure pushing against them and a new stream erupted. When John tried to stop this one he was only able to reduce it to a sputter before it regained its former intensity.

John was so involved in his own unfolding dilemma that he didn’t even notice that Sherlock had managed to drag him to the bathroom door.

John used all the resolve in his body to block the inhumane amount of urine from forcefully liberating itself. The damage to his pants consisted of a fair amount of wetness spread over the front, but he hadn’t fully wet himself yet. Well, he _was_ wet, but relatively speaking, his bladder was still holding onto more than three quarters of its original volume.

Sherlock pushed against the closed door, but it didn’t budge. Frustration surged through the genius’ body as he turned the knob and pushed again.

Sherlock felt a chill come over him as he remembered he had locked the door as part of the obstacle course. He closed his eyes knowing that John was not going to be able to ‘hold it’ until he retrieved the key and came back.

His uncharacteristic forgetfulness upset him, but the sound of liquid raining down on wood was even more upsetting.

Sherlock’s heart raced as he mumbled, “Hold on. I’ll get the key”, and he raced to gather the shiny golden tool. He knew it was a fool’s errand, but he also figured John would appreciate a little privacy.

The key was in a jewelry box next to Sherlock’s dresser so the task didn’t put as much distance between Sherlock and his friend as either would have liked.

Sherlock snatched up the key and returned to John.

The sound of urine spilling onto the floor was the only sound in the room so it was clear that John wasn’t finished, but when Sherlock returned to him, an exhausted John was slumped next to the door. His eyes were shut painfully tight, but the low moans that rumbled from the back of his throat hinted at pleasure.

Sherlock took a glance at his poor friend and sighed to himself. _The least I can do is let him finish. He seems to have found a fraction of joy in the act of letting go, so I will leave him to it for a moment._        

Sherlock’s fingers skillfully unlocked the door without disturbing a well distracted John. He figured after his friend was done relieving himself, he would require a shower at the least. The private solitude of an empty bathroom would also be a welcome option.

Sherlock left the bathroom key on the counter and backed away slowly. John’s eyes were still closed but a slight raise of his eyebrows signaled he wasn’t as lost to a distant world as Sherlock had thought.

Before John’s eyes opened, Sherlock had jumped back on the bed and lifted his book in front of his face. The tattered book was small, but it was large enough to act as a barrier to conceal a fully blushing Sherlock from a fully blushing John.

The sound of a door closing was enough to restart Sherlock’s breathing and the genius released a loud exhale of relief. He looked at the book in his hands and smirked. It was upside down.


	2. Sympathy pee

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table stirring a mug of tea when the sound of shuffling feet approached. John had been in the bathroom showering and mentally healing from the ordeal for the last hour and a half. Thankfully a long shower and a thorough teeth brushing had left him feeling a lot more cleansed, inside and out.

Sherlock continued to stare at the amber tea as if the answers to life’s problems were hidden inside.

John walked over to the kettle and poured a mug for himself and smirked. “If you’re looking for answers from tea, I think it’s the leaves that are more commonly used.”

Sherlock looked over to his friend. John was in a clean cotton white shirt and brown slacks. The lab coat draped from his arm and the messenger bag full of school books indicated that he was about leave.

Sherlock began his apology. “John…” That was as far as he got.

His voice had cracked so badly when he uttered John’s name that Sherlock was reminded of painful memories of early puberty. He cleared his throat, but John interrupted before he could try again.

John smiled uncomfortably. “I better go. I don’t want to risk being late.”

He stumbled out of the door without looking back.

Sherlock’s gazed rested on his tea again. He stirred the liquid and tried to ignore the emotions stirring inside of him. He wrestled with his thoughts.

_John is a good friend and now things are not how they were. I have to find a way to get everything back to normal._

He took a labored sip of the hot liquid and sighed as he felt a twinge in his bladder. He put his hand over his gradually filling bladder and smiled.

_I’ve got it! I’ll fill my bladder all day and when I see John tonight, I’ll be desperate to go. I’ll wait until I’m bursting before I go to prove to John that I’m sorry._

Sherlock quickly gulped down the rest of his tea and put his plan into motion.

He attended his classes, but made sure he drank sodas in between. By midday he was profoundly uncomfortable and by the last class he was unable to sit still.

He squirmed, and shifted, and tapped his converse sneakers against the floor trying to keep it all in. He even moaned softly at a point, but he was sure that he kept his plight a secret from his fellow classmates. Even if one or two of them did notice, no one said anything.

He pulled the sleeves of his black shirt passed his knuckles and squeezed his hands into tight fists. He rested his hands on his thighs and bounced his knees rapidly. In between waves of desperation he rubbed his flat palms against his thighs. He also eased the nervous tension by unbuttoning and re-buttoning the various pockets of his cargo pants.  

When class was dismissed, he gathered his books and raced out of the door. He headed as quickly as he could to the far end of campus. That was where John’s classes were held.

Sherlock’s bladder was heavy and bounced as he ran. The liquid torture rocked back and forth inside of the vessel that was gradually becoming too small to contain it.

He slowed his pace because the sheer effort of running was too much for his bulging bladder to handle.

He reached the front door of the medical building and waited. The simple task of stopping to wait for the automatic doors to open made it clear that it was better to keep his body in motion. He literally had to dance from foot to foot as he waited for the glass gateway to open.

He crossed his legs and gave his crotch a squeeze because no one seemed to be around. He reluctantly released his grip and raced down the hallway. Panic set in when he realized that John may have already headed back to the dorm and their paths didn’t cross. The thought of holding on all the way back to the dorm sent chills up his spine.

Sherlock was running so fast that he passed John’s classroom and had to skid to a stop and backtrack. His sneakers squeaked in the hallway covering up the whine of urgency that had slipped out.

He stood in the doorway of the classroom and was glad to see that the only two people in the room were John and his professor. These two people were also looking at Sherlock with an equal measure of surprise.

Sherlock leaned a hand against the doorway and crossed his legs as casually as he could. “Hi John.”

John smiled and turned his attention back to his professor. “Thank you for all your help, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The professor nodded and sat back down at his desk.

John went back to his seat to collect his belongings, but this was all taking too long for a bursting Sherlock.

Sherlock walked inside and stood next to John’s desk. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight back and forth. “Can you maybe do that a little faster?”

John huffed. “Well hello to you too. Why did you -?” John’s train of thought shifted as he looked over to see Sherlock fidgeting. John raised an eyebrow. “Are you ok?”

Sherlock bit his lip and crossed his legs. “I have to pee.”

John narrowed his eyes. His tone was angry, but he kept his voice low so that the professor wouldn’t hear. “Are you making fun of the incident from earlier?”

Sherlock twisted his body so his crossed legs would squeeze tighter together. He also moved his hands from his pockets to in front of his crotch. He had intended to give himself a necessary squeeze, but embarrassment kept him from doing that so he held his hands clasped in front of his lap.

Sherlock shook his head. “I wanted to sympathize with what happened to you by burdening myself with a full bladder, but I think I may have taken it a little too far.”

John smirked. “Sherlock Holmes taking something too far? That would be a first.”

Sherlock leaned over pressing his hands against his crotch firmly, but still not blatantly holding himself. “John, this isn’t funny. I’m really about to explode.”

John nodded as a pang of guilt hit him. “Sorry, let’s get back to the dorm so you can go.”

Sherlock was about to protest waiting that long, but his bladder protested first. A wave of intense pressure descended on his bladder and he doubled over in desperate need. He moaned loudly, causing the professor to look up.

The professor stood when he saw Sherlock in what appeared to be distress and walked over to him and John. “Are you alright son?”

Sherlock winced as he tried to straighten himself up. He was about to give an excuse of an upset stomach, but John chimed in first. “He needs to use the toilet.”

Sherlock blushed crimson red as desperation caused him to whine sharply.

The professor nodded. “The restrooms on this floor are closed. You’ll have to use the ones on the second floor. If you can’t wait I can let you use one of the bedpans that the students train with.”

Sherlock quickly shook his head. Not only did he not want this man, or John for that matter, to know that he was so desperate to urinate that he couldn’t wait a moment longer, he also was positive that the contents of his bladder would overflow even the largest of bedpans.

Sherlock stood up straight, but still couldn’t help bouncing in place. “Thank you sir, but I’ll be ok if I just head to the facilities right away.”

He made a beeline to the door and sprinted to the end of the hall with John trailing behind him.

Sherlock stopped at the stairs and looked at the elevator next to them. There was no way he’d be able to climb stairs with a full bladder weighing him down, so he pressed the up button on the elevator.

He marched in place as he waited for the elevator to descend to the first floor. It was coming from the tenth floor and stopped briefly after reaching each floor.

By the time it reached the fifth floor Sherlock was starting to wonder if the stairs were a better option. He was certain that a few leaks would have been unavoidable if he took that route, but the slow arrival of the elevator might yield the same outcome.

Sherlock grunted as he pressed his hand against his crotch and leaned forward. He kept his eyes on the floor not knowing if anyone was around to see. He actually didn’t care too much if students were looking; he was more mortified that his best mate John had a front and center view.

Sherlock muttered a quiet “C’mon” and right on cue, the metal doors dinged open.

Sherlock stumbled into the elevator as John pressed the second floor button. John rapidly pressed the door close button. Pressing it more than once never makes the doors close any faster, but John was almost more nervous and flustered than Sherlock.

John had been quiet since Sherlock bolted out of the classroom. He knew Sherlock was in agony and he just wanted to help.

He looked at Sherlock through the reflection of the metal doors. His desperate friend was leaning against the back railing. His hands were gripping the bar tightly and his head was tilted back, facing the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock’s head was tilted back to keep control of his bladder or to keep control of the tears from falling out.

Sherlock’s legs were crossed as tightly as possible and his knees were bent in a valiant effort to hold it all in.

The doors snapped open, causing both of them to jump back in surprise.

John was the first to gain his composure. He offered a hand to a trembling Sherlock, and guided him to the restroom.

When they reached the door to relief, Sherlock gave it a firm push and for the second time today, he was met with resistance. He pushed again harder to make sure it wasn’t just jammed, but it was clearly locked.

Sherlock moaned and finally gave his crotch the desperate squeeze he had been longing to. Embarrassment made the relief short lived and he released the grip and clasped his hands in front of his lap. He felt slightly more dignified, but twice as desperate without his hand’s grip and he rocked from side to side. “John, it’s locked.”

John pointlessly pushed against the door, and it still didn’t budge.

John sighed. “Ok. Let’s go home. I know you can hold it. Let’s hurry.”

Sherlock felt the tears burning at his eyes. Not only was he not sure how he was holding on at this point, he full well knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it until they reached the dorm. Just the thought of the elevator ride back down made his bladder twitch harder.

Sherlock felt a spurt of defeat slip through and gasped as he felt a slight wetness against his hand. He regained control immediately, but his bladder burned at the continued denial.

John, unaware of the slip, turned toward the elevator and started to head back. “It’s alright. I know you can hold it.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth and squeezed between his legs fending off the pulsing pressure. “I already can’t hold it. I... ugh.”

John ran over to Sherlock and noticed the wet spot under his friend’s shaking hands. He put a steadying hand on Sherlock’s back and another over his bladder to ease some of the pressure.

John was shocked at how distended Sherlock’s bladder was under his hand. As a medical student he knew that asking Sherlock to hold in a bladder this full was dangerous. It was clear that Sherlock had reached his biological limits.

He was prepared to tell his friend to let go of his aching bladder right there, but he was certain that Sherlock would be hesitant to pee in the hallway. Eventually Sherlock’s bladder would automatically empty, regardless of pride, but the painful process of a start and stop stream as Sherlock tried to hold on was something John didn’t want either.

John felt Sherlock’s bladder contract under his hand and Sherlock whimpered as a small spurt shot out. John could feel Sherlock’s abdominal muscles tense and strain as the spurt came to a halt.

Sherlock moaned. “I can’t… it’s too much… I…”

John eyed an empty classroom and pulled Sherlock inside. He closed the door behind them and it was almost impossible to see in the darkness. No students were in the hallway, but John left the lights off just in case someone walked passed.

He could hear the splash of a weak stream of urine hitting the floor and he shook his head. “No Sherlock. Hold it just a little longer.”

A grunt from his friend and a sudden end to the splashing sound signaled Sherlock had heard him.

John fumbled in the darkness for a trash can. He couldn’t see but he knew it had to be next to the teacher’s desk.

Sherlock’s voice shook. “John, please…”

John gripped the plastic trash can and headed back to his friend. “Just hold it another second.”

Sherlock hopped from foot to foot. “That’s about to be an impossibility.”

John reached out in the darkness and was happy when his hand brushed against Sherlock’s arm. John positioned the trashcan at an approximate distance to receive Sherlock’s eventual torrential offering.

John treated this like any other medical emergency and took matters in his own hands.

He moved Sherlock’s hand from his crotch and unbuttoned and unzipped him as fast as humanly possible. He pulled on the fairly wet cargo pants and Sherlock shimmied his hips aiding in the task of pulling them down.

Sherlock was gripping himself under his boxers as John pulled them down in one swift motion.

John stepped back, letting his patient and more importantly his close friend deal with the rest, as Sherlock aimed at the trashcan.

Sherlock moaned as a jet of pee rushed out of him and he hoped his trajectory was correct. The sound of liquid hitting plastic proved his aim was good and Sherlock tried to relax for the first time in hours.

He pushed as hard as he could, attempting to let it all out in one massive rush, but that wasn’t possible. The urine sprayed out in a powerful flow and stayed strong for an amazingly long amount of time.

After a full minute at maximum flow, John laughed. “Geez Sherlock. How did you hold all of that in?”

Sherlock’s voice was laced with tears. “I still have to go really badly.”

John positioned himself behind Sherlock and wrapped his arm around his waist and gently massaged the still bloated skin over the poor guy’s bladder. “It’s ok. Just relax. You’re not in pain, right?”

Sherlock leaned back and rested his head on John’s shoulder. John could feel him shake his head against his shoulder. His legs were still shaking. “No, it’s not painful. It’s just … the pressure is really intense.”

John smiled. “The human body is pretty amazing.”

Sherlock twisted his hips, still feeling like he was bursting to pee even though had had been going for some time. “Well I wish my body was a little less amazing. J-John, I’m still really uncomfortable.”

John smiled. “It’ll all be over soon. You can trust me, I’m a doctor.”

Sherlock was about to debate that point, but a sense of emptiness finally started to reach his bladder and he sighed with pleasure instead.

His relief was accompanied with a slight sense of panic as he realized he was going to have to walk across campus, in broad daylight, in wet pants.

John seemed to sense Sherlock’s fears and smiled. “After you finish, I’ll head over to the dorm and bring you back a pair of dry pants.”

For some reason Sherlock shivered with embarrassment over the word ‘dry pants’. The words made the whole situation feel real. The gravity of peeing his pants as a person over the age of five manifested itself as he started to cry involuntarily.

The tears started to flow more as thoughts of John going to the housing department and asking for another room mate danced through his head.

John tried to keep his voice calm and soothing as his friend was starting to unravel. “I’ll be back with the pants. Don’t go anywhere.”

Sherlock smiled, despite himself. “Where would I go John?”

John laughed. “Oh… right. Well, just hold on.”

Sherlock sniffed and laughed along with John. “I think it’s a little too late for that.”


	3. Apology instead of pee

Sherlock stared at the piece of burnt toast on his plate.

It had been a few days since the peeing incident and Sherlock and John hadn’t spoken much. They still exchanged hellos, goodbyes, good mornings, and good nights, but that was about it.

In fact Sherlock’s burnt breakfast was the byproduct of each man making their own breakfast. Sherlock was not culinary inclined at all.

Sherlock sighed as he looked at the burnt bread in front of him. “I haven’t truly peed my pants yet.”

John was sitting across from him at the breakfast table sipping tea. “Are you talking to the bread? I think that particular slice doesn’t really care. If you’re looking for an ear to listen, I’ve heard that rye bread is much more compassionate.”

Sherlock looked up. “John, I’ve been wrestling with what to say to you for days.”

John smirked slightly. “And that’s what you came up with? That’s a little disappointing.”

Sherlock scraped at the crispy toast with his thumbs. “I wanted to apologize for delaying you access to the bathroom and I thought the way to show you how sincere I was… well I wanted to walk in your shoes for a moment.”

John took the crispy toast from Sherlock’s hands and replaced it with a perfectly toasted one. He spread the butter on the toast slowly. “You do realize that all you had to say was sorry and I’d have forgiven you?”

Sherlock sighed. “I guess like most things, I have overthought this situation to extreme levels.” His eyes rested on John. “John Watson, I am truly sorry that I had made you feel uncomfortable in your own dwelling. You are my only friend and I value you highly. If you no longer wish to share cohabitation, I understand completely. I strongly urge you to reconsider - .”

John held up a hand and laughed. “It’s an apology not a job interview. You don’t have to be so formal.”

Sherlock paused for a moment and started over. “You peed yourself. Get over it.”

John laughed a little harder. “I think the right tone for an apology is somewhere in the middle of those two, but relax buddy. I forgive you. Just do me a favor. Don’t booby trap the room.”

Sherlock chewed on the first edible breakfast he had in days. “That isn’t negotiable. The obstacles strengthen mental clarity.”

John opened his mouth to interrupt, but Sherlock cut him off. “However, implementing a safe word should solve most problems. And in the spirit of generosity, I’ll let you choose the word.”

John looked down at the piece of toast on his plate.

Sherlock sighed. “If you say the word toast I’m going to be very disappointed in your originality. Of all the words in the English language. You’re a medical student so you even have most Latin words at your disposal as well.”

John just looked back at Sherlock silently.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine. Toast it is. Let’s hope you will never need to use it.”

As Sherlock sipped the remainder of his tea, a small part of him hoped John would. And John being John, it only took a few days before he did.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's my little story. I may write more in this fandom because I really like their bromance.


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